


Not Jealous

by woolgathered



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 15:50:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17686445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woolgathered/pseuds/woolgathered
Summary: There is something very appealing about this NPC. Anyway, this is all speculative now so definitely not canon compliant.A little future times fantasy about Dralde & Dora visiting an inn with the party. Fluff heavy, written with a fever, it took me forever to get them in bed.





	Not Jealous

I could’ve kissed the flagstones that fanned out from the Inn door. The massive tavern in this foggy logging town was our first taste of civilization since Grimrock, and it beckoned like an oasis. I suppose I’d lost a lot of my adventurous sensibilities in favor of clean clothes and a wash basin, but it’s hard to do what I do without regular upkeep. Magic only enhances what you’ve already got...

I tried to imagine what the dozen or so locals, looking up from their drinks as we walked in, saw. Viertes would’ve fit right in if it weren’t for the terrifying scars he carried these days. Walagorn, too, minus the scars. Seamus and Vasellia with their horns, costume and otherwise, raised some eyebrows. Aramil was too clean for the place, as always; his shining mail and glowing robe made the already grimy tavern seem even more so. 

Crouching low, Dralde entered the hall behind me. The tavern’s inner beams made obstacles for the Goliath’s height but he navigated them easily enough. The rowdy room fell silent. 

The locals had all at least seen and probably interacted with the Goliaths before, but it obviously wasn’t common for one such as Dralde to enter town. He ignored the still silence of the room like he did most everything else, his impassive gaze looking through the crowd to find us at a table in the back of the room. 

I knew my role, although I wished I could clean up first. If I did well, we might all bathe soon. So I approached the innkeeper and hoped the poor lighting would work in my favor. 

“Do you have need of entertainment here?” I gestured to my lute and curtsied, wearing my best smile. “I can sing ballads, bar songs, and shanties. I can tell stories of great heroes, dance, and recite poetry. If you’ll lodge and care for our group, I will keep your crowd happy for awhile.” And let us bathe, I added silently. 

He seemed to like my offer, but cast a sideways glance- wringing his hands- at our table before replying, “Yes, yes, we could use your craft. It’s payday for this lot and I dare say they’d loosen their purses with some song. But I don’t want any trouble from the giant. And tell your demon-spawn lady to keep her head down. I don’t much care one way or t’other but there’s some as do.”

I exhaled in relief as he turned away to find us a key. I didn’t enjoy this part, but it was the best help I could be. It had been a week since I’d tuned my lute, though, so I needed a quiet place to prepare before I performed. I waved to the others and followed the plump innkeep up the stairway. 

He opened a suite of rooms that suited our numbers well enough. “There’s a bath at the end of the outer hall.” He said, much to my relief. “I’ll make sure your table is served, and I expect you’ll be on the stage in an hour. Do we have an agreement?” 

I curtsied again, maintaining as much charm as I could. He nodded and waddled off, leaving me with a key. 

I left my pack and lute in the common room of our suite and wandered down the hall to see the bath. Behind the dark wood door was a tiled room with two tubs standing in the center. They were made of dark metal, and as I ran my hand along one, dreaming of hot water on my skin, a woman’s voice interrupted my reverie. “Will you be wanting a bath? Master Kilby rang up for a customer. Will that be you, then?” 

I was hungry... but I could have a bath now and eat later, I thought. Let the others dine; I needed to clean up for my work. I nodded to the bath maid and she got to work filling one of the tubs with a large brass spigot that pivoted out from the wall. Steam rose in billows from the water into the cold air. I looked around for the heat source before it hit me that this was hot spring water, like the pools we’d seen before. I found a bench with a curtain for changing, and I couldn’t get my rank clothes off fast enough. 

I stepped out from the curtain and quickly into the hot bath. The attendant had a good way about her and averted her eyes just so until I was under the slippery water, rich with minerals. Then, to my surprise, she got hold of my arm and began to scrub me with a pleasantly rough brush. She didn’t say a word, just scrubbed, adding soapy powder to her brush occasionally. She moved from arms to legs and feet, washed my hair, and then motioned for me to stand. I did, baring my naked torso to the air, steam rising from wet skin, and she continued her work without skipping a beat. 

I was wondering if I had ever been so clean when she slapped my arse with an open hand. “All done, towels are over there.” My mouth hung open from the sting of the slap, but I climbed out and obeyed quietly. I wore my towel back to the rooms, carrying my filthy clothes in my arms. I had a clean dress in my pack, and it felt like heaven to wear it. 

When I finally descended the stairs with fresh braids and my newly tuned lute I was feeling much more prepared for an evening of song. My companions were drinking and laughing at the table- save Dralde, who watched them like the newcomer he was, having only travelled with us these past two weeks. I approached and extolled the bath that awaited them, holding out my arms and twirling to share my new condition. Dralde caught my eyes and held my gaze, serious. 

I was developing my skill at reading him. He would never show it around the others, but I knew he didn’t simply turn off his affection for me in company. Perhaps foolishly, I delighted in testing his resolve around our group, wondering when he’d cave and crush me in those arms he did when we were alone, devour me with those eyes, cool no longer. 

He hadn’t. And he didn’t now. He’d never seen me bathed and in fresh garb; perhaps he didn’t care for it. Vasellia stood and held me out at arms length, approving of my pinned and plaited hair before pushing me down in front of a plate and a tall wooden cup of something fortified. The drink felt good in my growling stomach and I emptied it before I ate. 

It wasn’t long before I had no excuse to remain at the table. I walked to the small performers stage at the front of the tavern, imagining that this doubled as their town hall and anything else requiring a meeting-place. The room was quite full, though; seasonal workers, I supposed, for the logging. Mostly male, pine-tar scented. 

I gave them a bow and introduced myself, pleased to hear the din of the crowd subside as I did, and I began. 

All the easy songs first, a verse or two about The Breaking, then back to happy standards. I knew how to do this. An hour had gone by before I knew it, and I was taking a break over another glass of the dark wine, when I heard a group of men near the front mention ‘the tiefling witch’ in suspicious whispers. They looked like the worst kind of trouble. 

I knew I had to keep my side of our bargain for rooms, but I didn’t want these men leaving the hall without my warning Vasellia, so I decided the crowd was ripe for dancing. This was also not my favorite part but certainly a way I could be helpful. If my parents knew how I used their dance lessons, meant to make a suitable bride of me...

I opened my dress-front slowly, grateful I’d worn this one and not another. I had an inkling I’d be entertaining in multiple mediums tonight. Soon the men had no side conversations or whispers, but were completely involved in predictable cheering and jeering. I imagined a song; there was no one to play for me, and danced until I wore only my belled, violet underskirt, finishing with a deep bow to fetch my lute, which I picked at slowly, sliding to my rear and sitting tailor-style on the wooden stage, breasts bare behind the cold varnish of the instrument. 

I searched the room as I played a lazy romance. My companions had gone upstairs, presumably for baths and rest, except Dralde. I’d been so busy about my work that I hadn’t noticed. It was common for my friends to retreat while I worked. After all, they got to hear better songs around our fires, and this part of the show wasn’t really for them. Dralde, though, had never seen me perform for a crowd. Even at this distance I could tell he was watching every moment. 

My song ended and someone shouted for more dancing. A thin young man hopped on stage with a fiddle and began to play, swaying and grinning. Hoping this would pay off in the form of safe, happy friends, I obliged. 

The tune reminded me of home, and I danced easily to it, topless but warm enough in the smoky, crowded hall, now quite buzzed from the wine. I started to think about ending the show when one man, goaded by his mates, reached out to pull at the belled fringe of my skirt. His efforts to disrobe me were fruitless but far too bold for my comfort. Perhaps my burgeoning distress showed, for suddenly the crowd parted around Dralde, who appeared next to the stage and motioned for the fiddler to cease. Then he picked me up, gathered my things, and bore me upstairs without a word. I heard the shouting and whistling of the men in the hall. Gods only knew what they thought was happening. Then the fiddle picked up again and the crowd began stomping a jaunty beat. 

Dralde carried me to our rooms and chose a door to the left, crouching to haul me inside and slamming the door behind him. The ceilings were lower here and he could just stand without hitting them. I covered my breasts with my arm and tucked my legs close, looking up at him defiantly. What was he thinking? He could’ve cost us our rooms with that display. Luckily the men were satisfied with my performance, drunk, and pleased as punch to think he’d carried me off to have his way with me: a dancer and a doxy, no doubt. 

They weren’t wrong, in a sense. This man was my lover and I, his. Was he jealous of my display? I hadn’t thought of that. It didn’t seem like a quality Dralde would have. If only he said things that were on his mind like everyone else. I sighed, waiting for him to do or say something, impatient and admittedly a little drunk myself. 

“What? You didn’t like my show?” I raised my arm to swat at him playfully, setting my breasts free. 

At that Dralde charged toward me on the bed, shifting my body toward the headboard and pulling me to him at the same time. He perched over me, still, breathing the same air for a moment, before setting about removing the pins from my hair, unraveling my braids first with precision and then with haste that tangled and pulled at my scalp painfully. 

“Wait, wait I’ll do it ... ouch!” He stopped, letting me take over, and set to unwrapping my skirt, unwinding it from me and throwing it aside. He removed the bangles from my feet and arms, and wiped my painted lips with his rough fingers. Eventually we just lay there, my costume around us in a ring, and he kissed me lightly. 

“It’s just a performance, Dralde. It isn’t meant to be real. I’m sorry if it upset you.”

He seemed unaffected. “Those men are not men, to stand there watching like that. I couldn’t hide my desire for you any longer.” And he moved my hand over his crotch to make clear his meaning. I felt his cock leap under the soft leather of his clothing and I reached for the closure I knew well how to release. Not jealous, then. Insatiable. 

We’d wandered from the fire together many times, so I operated with less doubt in his arms now. There were certain things I knew to expect: I was not a quiet lover. He would try to behave but would inevitably forget to, which I found endearing in sort of a painful way. He would never speak of us to the others even when asked, and I never saw him smile outside of our moments. Other things I inferred from experience: he didn’t like me on top, but he’d let me up there just to watch me come, which I would quickly with the greater control that vantage offered me. He loved to make me scream and moan, or it seemed so, as some of our group liked to tease. Dralde wouldn’t show his affection for me around the others but he sure didn’t mind them overhearing it. I liked to tease him, but I knew his patience with me, while commendable, had an end, and when he reached it he was frighteningly strong, having -accidentally- seriously hurt me more than once. 

I decided not to toy with his patience tonight. I rolled toward him, sliding his kilt away, and closed my legs around him, clinging to him. He reached down and touched me, sampling my readiness, pushing the tip of his penis against the most sensitive parts of me and withdrawing, until I stopped him short and pulled him against me, made him come closer, in, please, stop teasing me. At last he was satisfied with my nonverbal begging, rolling me onto my back and pushing one of my knees to my chin as he penetrated me, and I moaned at the familiar, painful, impossibly pleasurable sensation. Gods, let the walls be thick plaster, I thought in that second before he moved inside of me, pinning my knees up together and plundering me as if he hadn’t already tasted every inch. 

His weight was crushing and my face pressed into his chest, muffling my sounds effectively. His scent was all the more delicious next to the absence of my own. It occurred to me that I hadn’t asked him what he thought of my clean state and I freed myself to inquire but he moved his hand over my mouth between us as I spoke and silenced me. Frustrated, I bit it, but he didn’t let go. Instead he pulled out and flipped me over, keeping my mouth tightly covered, and fucked me from behind on the bed, my arse in the air in front of him and my breasts grinding against the rough sheets. 

I continued biting at his his palm, struggling with all my might to get free and tell him what I thought of his antics, but it was no use. The more I writhed the more he used it to his advantage, ramming into me with such force that my biting became an involuntary act instead of an aggressive one. The bed shuffled underneath us, the table rattled in reply, and I bit hard on his right hand while his left creeped around my belly and between my thighs to rub me, first slowly then in time with his fevered body. I tried to escape his touch, but I could not, pinned as I was, and combined with his rough penetration I was rapidly nearing orgasm, keening as I bit him harder. 

When I came it was the sweetest relief, and I tasted blood in my mouth, my hips rocking into his hand and wanting more. I ceased my fighting in a glorious, fuzzy haze and felt him speed up as if in victorious celebration before he, too, came in a hot bloom inside me, raggedly laughing at his own exhaustion. 

He let me loose then, arching into a recline beside me, his stripes seductive in the lantern light. I stayed arse-up for a moment as I assessed my ability to move, the friction burns on my chest stinging and my whole pelvis aching in afterglow. When I rolled onto my side he was holding his hand to his mouth, sucking. It was his blood I’d tasted. 

I was still mad at him. “Don’t do that! I wanted to ask you something!” I said, coming to my knees to straddle his thigh and tenderly pulling his hand into the light to see the damage. 

“You can ask me now. I was busy just then.” He smiled as he spoke. Gods I loved that smile. Did he know he had me wrapped around that smile? Everything that had passed between us began in search of it, and now that I had seen it I would do anything for it. 

“What do you think of my clean hair? I took a bath.” He touched my hair, pushing some behind my ear, thoughtful. “I like you better dirty than clean in this bed. You smell better, you taste better in the forest.” 

I accepted his answer with a sigh but he continued, seriously, “You are very lovely in your costume. If you had been dressed like that when we met I would’ve been too afraid to touch you.” Another smile.

“I’m glad you did.”

**Author's Note:**

> Be kind. I already know I’m weird.


End file.
